


Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

by pacole



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (kind of), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bonding, Car Accidents, Families of Choice, Gen, Hospitals, Light Angst, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reading, dadvos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-01 19:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12711666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pacole/pseuds/pacole
Summary: By the time he registered the roar of an engine speeding towards them, it was too late: he could only freeze, caught in the headlights of a car that showed no signs of slowing down.It sank in that they would be hit the split second before the car made impact.And then there was only pain.Or,The Modern AU in which Davos is a dad to traumatised kids.





	Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janie_tangerine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/gifts).



> Written for Round 16 of got_exchange, for [janie_tangerine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine)'s prompt _just give me Davos accidentally adopting people who are in dire need of decent parenting. If you go with show verse I'd pay gold for something with Jon since it was basically canon at that point, but really. Any orphaned Stark kid? Theon? (Please I'd love Theon.) Wex Pyke if you go with book canon? Really just whoever, it's not as if there's not a line of traumatized kids (or adults actually) in dire need in canon. If you want to make it modern AU or whateverelse AU I'm ABSOLUTELY not gonna stop you just give me Davos accidentally adopting people and being a pro at it._  
>   
> 
> Honestly this turned out worse than expected, but I hope that it still fulfils certain expectations and isn't _that_ bad. Also, a disclaimer: I don't know anything about hospitals/the foster care system/the law beyond what I've read/seen/googled. Characters may be OOC.
> 
> Many thanks to my friend, who cheered me on and allowed me to bounce ideas off her despite not even knowing what fandom I was writing for :)  
>  
> 
> Title stolen from Tolkien.

He stumbled down the pavement, one foot tripping over the other in his haste. The air was still, quiet except for the occasional caw of a crow. The bitter cold bit into his skin, goosebumps rising from his flesh ( _he should have tried to steal a jacket_ ) but he grit his teeth and pressed on.

 

He spied the old playground with the rickety swings and broken slide up ahead, not more than five metres away, and held his breath. He did not dare breathe a sigh of relief, but all the same, joy flooded his body with warmth. _Almost there… Then they could get a chance at a new life…_

 

“C’mon, Wex,” he forced out between chapped lips, tugging the boy behind him along, nearly dragging him in his haste. “We’re nearly at the bus stop. Just a little bit more.”

 

He heard a small rustle behind him, and his head immediately snapped up, glancing frantically over his shoulder, eyes wild, searching for any sign of them being followed. But his worries were unfounded; a lone crow flew out of a tree, and he returned his gaze forward after one last lingering glance.

 

They reached the old playground, and there, across the road, was the bus stop. It was a plain old bus stop, no different from the hundred over all across the country, but to him, with the lone street lamp bathing it in an orange glow, the bus stop seemed to be made of gold.

 

It certainly represented something that no amount of gold could buy.

 

He could hear a gentle rumbling in the distance, and seconds later the bus turned the corner, steadily powering towards the bus stop. _Shit_ , he thought. That was the last bus, if he had read the schedule that he had stolen right. Their walk to the bus stop had taken longer than he had thought. “Hurry up, Wex, we have to cross the road before the bus gets there,” he mumbled to the boy. If they didn’t manage to catch the bus, they would have to go back there or risk freezing in the cold, and then who knew when he would get a chance to escape again…

Together, they stepped off the curb. In his hurry, he didn’t think to check for cars; anyway, he did not imagine that there would be any, not at this hour.

 

That was a mistake.

 

By the time he registered the roar of an engine speeding towards them, it was too late: he could only freeze, caught in the headlights of a car that showed no signs of slowing down.

 

It sank in that they would be hit the split second before the car made impact.

 

And then there was only pain.

 

In his last moments of consciousness, out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Wex, lying less than a metre away in a pool of liquid that looked suspiciously like blood.

 

_He had failed…_

 

* * *  


“Hello, Davos!” The little girl greeted cheerily.

 

“Hello, Shireen,” Davos smiled back. “You look much better today.”

 

“I am!” She exclaimed. “It doesn’t hurt much anymore. The doctor said that I can go home soon.”

 

“Dr Robb said that, did he?” Davos pretended to be shocked. “Wow! You must be getting better really fast!” He picked up the soft toy stag lying next to her, a gift from Davos himself, and pretended to talk to it. “Isn’t Shireen a good girl?”

 

The nine-year-old giggled. “Read me a story again, Davos! Look, Papa gave me a new book yesterday!” She added, picking up a thin book on her lap that Davos had failed to notice before.

 

The Paediatrics ward of the hospital had a small bookshelf in one corner of every room stocked with books appropriate for the age group of the four children sharing the room, but Shireen had already gone through them all – even some from the neighbouring rooms that housed children a few years her senior - within the first week of her stay. As a result, her father would often bring her new books to read when he visited her after work. Shireen would thus usually have a new book to show Davos when he visited her.

 

Davos smiled at Shireen and sat down on the chair next to her hospital bed. “What’s the book about?” He asked.

 

“There’s princesses and dragons and also Aegon the Conqueror! See?” She said, flipping to the requisite pages and pointing at the illustrations.

 

“Alright,” Davos said, laughing at her eagerness. “Let’s start reading from the beginning, shall we?”

 

Shireen nodded, dark braids bobbing up and down with her head.

 

Davos flipped to the first page of the book and began reading, “ _Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess named Rhaenys. She had long blonde hair and bright violet eyes…_ ”

 

And so Davos read on, his Flea Bottom accent cradling the words as Shireen listened raptly, blue eyes tracing the letters on the page as Davos read them.

 

In truth, Shireen didn’t need Davos to read the book to her. She was fully capable of reading it herself – in fact, he had seen her devour her way through much higher-level books. But Shireen, sweet girl that she was, knew that Davos enjoyed reading to her - a hobby that he had acquired after reading to her during the first week of her recovery when she constantly slipped in and out of sleep - and so whenever she got a new book she would plead for Davos to read it, and Davos would smile and indulge her and pretend that his heart didn’t warm up a little bit every time she did it.

 

Davos loved Shireen as if she were his own daughter. She was sweet and kind, and was always able to brighten up his day. Particularly after his beloved wife and sons’ untimely deaths as the victims of a boating accident, he had often felt as if Shireen was the only thing anchoring him to the world. His little ray of sunshine and joy.

 

He had been there since the beginning – celebrated with her father when Selyse announced the pregnancy; paced anxiously in the maternity ward as she was brought into the world; babysat her when her parents had been busy; attended her first school play with pride. He had witnessed her greatest achievements and happiest moments.

 

And he was now tending to her after her worst injury. She had been attending a friend’s birthday party when the parent holding the cake had tripped. The cake went flying, and so the did the candles adorning it. One had landed on the curtains, which then caught fire. The kids were hurriedly ushered out of the room as the adults desperately tried to put it out. In the end, it was a small accident: the fire was put out in no time, the fire brigade didn’t even have to be called, and everyone remained unscathed. Everyone, that is, except Shireen, who had been hanging back in her typical shy fashion, and as a result was standing right amongst the curtains as it burst aflame.

 

While all the other children went back home that night with little more than a scare, Shireen was admitted into the hospital for third degree burns.

 

It had been touch-and-go for a while, particularly after the burn had gotten seriously infected. Davos had sat fretfully by her bedside and prayed frantically to the Seven. Ultimately, her father’s relentless pursuit for the best doctors to treat his only daughter paid off – Shireen would make a full recovery, though not without extensive scarring on her cheek. But the doctors assured them that that could easily be fixed with some skin grafting.

 

It was a better prognosis than he had expected, given how close to death Shireen had been. The roller coaster of emotions he had felt during that tumultuous time – fear, heartbreak, pain, and finally, overwhelming relief and joy – had only made him feel even more attached to Shireen. The girl had nearly been taken away from him – from them all - once. Never again.

 

He visited her nearly everyday during his lunch break now, just to check on how she was doing. It wasn’t a chore – the law firm where he worked was a mere ten minutes drive away from the hospital, and he didn’t mind skipping lunch for the visits.

 

“ _…and so Rhaenys and Aegon lived happily ever after in the kingdom of Westeros. The end._ ” Davos finished, closing the book and putting it back down in Shireen’s lap with his left hand, the one with the shortened fingers. He’d been missing his fingertips for so long that he barely noticed it anymore these days.

 

“It’s a nice story,” Shireen said. “But I didn’t like how Rhaenys burned all those people.”

 

“Yes, that wasn’t very nice of her, was it?” Davos agreed. He didn’t tell her that that detail was hardly the most unsavoury part of the story – it was believed by historians that Aegon was Rhaenys’ brother, making their relationship incestuous - but of course the fable would sensationalise the tale and neglect it. Then again, that was so long ago that nobody really knows for sure what had happened.

 

Davos checked his watch. “I’m sorry, princess, but I have to go. My lunch break is over. I’ll come see you again tomorrow, okay? Maybe you’ll have a new book to show me.” He said, leaning over to give her a peck on her forehead.

 

Shireen wrapped her arms around his neck. “Bye bye, Davos. Thank you for reading to me.”

 

Davos smiled fondly. “Thank _you_ , princess, for being such an attentive listener.”

 

Shireen grinned too, and waved him goodbye.

 

As Davos was leaving, he caught Shireen’s attending paediatrician, Dr Robb Stark, in the hallway.

 

“Afternoon, Mr Seaworth. Leaving already?” Robb asked, giving him a strained smile.

 

“Unfortunately. But Shireen does seems much better, which is great news.” Davos replied.

 

“Yeah, she’s improving at a faster rate than expected. If she keeps this up, she can be discharged next week, hopefully.”

 

“That’s wonderful!” Davos enthused. When the younger man only gave him a weak smile in return, Davos asked, “Is everything alright?”

 

Robb shook his head. “It’s fine, Mr Seaworth. Just stressed, is all. A teenager and another boy were brought in last night with serious injuries. Hit-and-run, it seems like. I’ve been up all night treating them. We’ve only just got them stable.”

 

“Are they going to be all right?” Davos asked, concerned. He’d always been particularly affected by children’s injuries.

 

“Hopefully. They both got banged up pretty badly though, but currently it seems that there’s nothing life threatening, but neither of them is awake yet so we can’t say for sure. We’re still waiting for the anaesthetic to wear off,” Robb said.

 

“I’m sure they’ll be fine. I have faith in your medical abilities. Just look at the wonders that you worked on Shireen.” Davos reassured, patting the young doctor on the shoulder. “Well, I won’t disturb you anymore. I’d better get going before my boss chews me out. Thank you again for all you’ve done.”

 

“I was only doing my job,” Robb insisted. “I’ll see you around, Mr Seaworth.”

 

As Davos drove back to work, he thought about burns, accidents, and sickly children lying in hospital beds.

 

* * *

 

When Davos visited Shireen again the next day, he was intrigued to see that another hospital bed was occupied.

 

Shireen noticed his eyes drifting over to the other bed about halfway through his reread of the same book from yesterday, _The Princess and the Dragon_. “He got here this morning,” she said as Davos turned a page.

 

“Hmm?” Davos asked in confusion.

 

“The boy over there. You were looking at him. He got here this morning. I don’t know his name. Dr Robb is looking after him too, I think.”

 

“Mhmm,” Davos hummed. That must be the boy who was in the car accident, then. He certainly looked it, with the bandage around his head, cast around his arm, and gauze on his face. Davos didn’t think that he’d be so young. Absent-mindedly, he wondered where the teenager who’d been brought in with the boy was. _Probably in another room_.

 

“He looks so lonely,” Shireen suddenly said.

 

With a start, Davos realised that Shireen was right. The boy _did_ look lonely, lying in the hospital bed. Where the other children had concerned friends and family sitting over them day and night, the boy’s bedside sat only beeping machines and IV bags.

 

“He is, isn’t he?” Davos agreed softly. As he turned to go back to reading the book, an idea occurred to him.

 

“Will you be alright reading the book yourself, princess?”

 

Shireen nodded. “Where are you going, Davos?” She asked as Davos stood up.

 

He smiled down at her. “I’m going to go read to the boy there. So he won’t be so lonely anymore.”

 

Shireen’s face lit up. “Can I read to him too? Please, Davos?”

 

“I’m not sure about that, princess,” Davos replied apologetically. “How about this, I’ll ask Dr Robb about it later when I see him, alright?”

 

Shireen beamed and wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug. “Thank you, Davos!”

 

With a final pat on Shireen’s uninjured cheek, Davos strode over to the other boy’s bedside, sitting down and opening _The Princess and the Dragon_.

 

“ _Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess named Rhaenys…_ ” Davos began, but before he could flip the page, he was interrupted.

 

“Mr Seaworth?” A familiar voice asked from behind him. “Do you know him?”

 

Davos swiftly turned around to face the dark haired young man. “Nurse Jon!” Davos exclaimed. “No, I’m afraid I don’t know him either. Shireen mentioned just now that he was lonely, so… I thought that he might need a little… company. A good book’s never hurt anyone,” he smiled, holding up Shireen’s book.

 

“Thank you so much, Mr Seaworth,” Jon Snow smiled back, eyes soft. “It’s nice to see someone who cares so much about these children, you know? Those kids who are lost and alone in the world. Take him, for example,” he nodded to the sleeping child on the bed. “He was moved here from the ICU this morning. We still don’t know who he is. Nobody’s come forward with any information regarding him. Nobody seems to care. The only person who might give us answers is the other boy, the one who was with him, but then it’s not like _he’s_ in any better shape. Not that we know anything about him either. These two boys… it’s like they just appeared one day, you know? No names, no ages, no addresses, no concerned family and friends fretting over their lives. Just two injured boys alone in the world. It’s…”  


“Sad,” Davos finished.

 

“I suppose that’s the best word for it, isn’t it? No embellishments, no fancy vocabulary, just the plain simple truth. Perhaps that’s the most we can offer them.”

 

Davos didn’t respond; instead, he stared down at the boy, absorbing his features – the pale skin, the dark brown hair, the sharp curve of his nose. He was thin, and not particularly tall; Davos placed his age to be around ten, twelve at a maximum. “No one deserves to be alone in the world,” he finally said after a long pregnant pause. “Let alone children. I will keep him company if nobody else will.”

 

Jon seemed taken aback by Davos’ resolve. “Then I’ll leave you to your reading, Mr Seaworth. It’s a good thing you’re doing. A very good thing,” he added as he moved to the next bed.

 

“It’s the right thing,” Davos muttered. He wasn’t sure if Jon had heard him, and he didn’t care, because in that moment nothing seemed to matter more than the lost little boy alone in the world.

 

* * *

 

“Is he supposed to be sleeping for this long? Shouldn’t the anaesthetic have worn out by now? It’s not supposed to last this long, is it?” Davos asked worriedly, peppering Robb with questions. He’d just got off work and had come to check on both Shireen and the boy. It was unusual for him to visit the hospital twice in a day, but thoughts of the poor child had occupied him the rest of the afternoon at work, and he couldn’t help but visit the hospital again. Since Shireen had her parents with her, he chose to instead spend the evening reading to the boy again.

 

The young doctor frowned down at his patient, ignoring Davos for the time being. He tapped the boy’s shoulders heavily. When there was no reaction, Robb slipped his hands into the boy’s, calling loudly, “Can you hear me? If you can hear me, can you squeeze my hand?”

 

Davos watched the boy’s fingers. There was no movement.

 

Robb frowned again. “Let’s try that again, shall we? If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”

 

There was still no reaction.

 

“You’re right,” Robb admitted finally. “The anaesthetic should have worn off by now. He should at least be responsive. Evidently, he’s not.”

 

“What does that mean then?” Davos asked frantically.

 

“He’s probably in a coma,” Robb said. “He suffered head injuries during the accident, it’s highly plausible that those same injuries is causing the coma. I’ll have to do a CT scan to confirm, but I’m pretty certain.”

 

“Is he going to be okay?”

 

Robb smiled sadly. “Only time will tell, I’m afraid.” As Davos’ face fell, he added, “Have faith, Mr Seaworth. Kids have shown to be incredibly resilient. It’s not just possible, it’s actually very likely that he’ll pull through with no major injuries.”

 

Davos isn’t sure if the reassuring smile he plasters on his face was for Robb or for himself. Perhaps it was both.

 

* * *

 

Voices. A deep gravelly one, then another man who sounded younger. Who were they? Where was he? He didn’t recognise the voices, so… Did they manage to successfully get away? Was he _safe_ now?

 

A dull pain in his head. What had happened? He was going somewhere… but for the life of him he couldn’t recall. He did remember bright lights and a screeching sound. Then something bad had happened.

 

But what?

 

The pain in his head was getting worse. He wanted to do something about it, but his body felt heavy and laden.

 

The pain was really getting unbearable now. It felt as if somebody was pushing down on his brain with all their might.

 

Then, mercifully, darkness.

 

* * *

 

“C’mon, Shireen, I have great news! Dr Robb’s said that you can read to the other boy with me, let’s see if your reading’s improved any, eh?”

 

Shireen beamed. “Really? I’m so excited!” Then her face fell as a thought occurred to her. “What if he doesn’t like the book I read, Davos? I wanted to read _The Princess and the Dragon,_ but I don’t think boys like books about princesses, do they? Do they like books with giants? Do you think he’ll like _Bran and the Wall_? Should I read that?”

 

Davos smiled comfortingly at her insecurity. “I’m sure he’ll like any book you read, princess. Whether it’s _Bran and the Wall_ or _The Princess and the Dragon_.”

 

“I’ll read _Bran and the Wall_ ,” Shireen decided after a moment of contemplation. Then her head snapped up as she caught something out of the corner of her eye, and to Davos’ alarm, leapt off the bed, book in hand.

 

To his immense relief, the girl simply ran to Robb Stark and hugged him around the waist. “Thank you thank you thank you, Dr Robb! For letting me read to the boy!”

 

“It’s good to see you up and about, Shireen. What’s that book in your hand?” Robb asked, amused.

 

“It’s _Bran and the Wall_. I’m going to read it to him. Have you read it before, Dr Robb?”

 

Robb bent down so that he could talk to her face to face. “I have indeed, Shireen. My mother used to read it to me when I was a little boy, around the same age as you. Did you know that legend goes that Bran was the founder of House Stark?”

 

“Really?” Shireen asked incredulously. “That’s so cool!”

 

Robb nodded. “Yup,” he said, smoothing Shireen’s hair. “Happy reading, Shireen.”

 

Shireen beamed again, gave Robb a final hug, and went to sit on the chair beside the little boy.

 

* * *

 

Voices again. The same deep gravelly one, this time speaking rhythmically. He couldn’t make out what the voice was saying.

 

A pause.

 

Then a higher, squeakier, voice joined the first one.

 

A young girl.

 

Who were they? He didn’t know any young girls. Why were they here? Why were they talking to him? Where was Theon?

 

Questions, questions, questions. No answers.

 

He wanted to open his eyes to see for himself, but his resolute commands didn’t even cause his eyelids to flutter. It didn’t feel like he’d lost complete control over them though – just that he wasn’t trying hard enough to get them open.

 

Push… harder… come on… open….

 

The strain was starting to get to him. Before long, nothingness welcomed him again.

 

* * *

 

He felt better now. Everything hurt less. His body felt lighter.

 

There were no voices this time.

 

Perhaps they had just been a figment of his imagination? The thought made him feel… forlorn, somehow. The voices, despite the many questions they raised, were still comforting. The knowledge that someone was there.

 

Perhaps he had dreamed them up so that he wouldn’t feel so lonely.

 

But wait – was that…?

 

The voices were back! It was the deep gravelly one and the high squeaky one again. Perhaps he hadn’t dreamt them up after all.

 

Well, only one way to find out. He tried to get his eyelids to open again.

 

* * *

 

“Davos! I think he’s waking up!”

 

Davos glanced up from the book at Shireen’s exclamation. And she was right – the boy’s eyelids were twitching, which was the most responsive he’d been in the past two days, ever since they’d started reading to him.

 

“Dr Robb!” Davos called out in excitement. “I think the boy is finally regaining consciousness!”

 

Robb hurriedly wrapped up with his current patient and rushed over. “Let’s not get too excited yet, shall we?” He muttered. “He may not regain consciousness so soon. It’s only been a few days; comas usually take a few weeks.”

 

Despite his words, Robb was still visibly thrilled at the development, a giant grin on his face as he bustled around the machines, checking this and that. “Heart rate and BP rising,” he murmured.

 

“Is that good?” Davos asked anxiously.

 

“It’s good,” Robb reassured. “Alright, let’s try some tests, shall we?” He redirected his attention to the child, putting his hands in the boy’s hands again. “If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”

 

Davos and Shireen watched with bated breaths. For a moment, there was no movement.

 

Then, slowly… a small twitch of his finger.

 

Davos let out the breath he was holding as Shireen gasped, “He’s waking up!”

 

Robb, too, burst into smiles. “Right, can you do that for me again?” He requested, barely containing his excitement.

 

Another twitch, this time faster and stronger.

 

“He’s recovering so much faster than we expected,” Robb gushed. “At this rate he’ll be fully conscious tomorrow. We’ll be monitoring him constantly to check on his progress.”

 

Davos felt his grin get broader. “Let’s continue reading, Shireen, shall we? It’s clearly working.”

 

Shireen nodded enthusiastically while reopening her book. Davos met Robb’s eyes and smiled.

 

* * *

 

“You’re finally awake!” Davos chimed. The boy on the bed didn’t respond, only staring quizzically up at him, eyes darting between Davos, Shireen, Robb, Jon, and the hospital room.

 

For a moment Davos stilled with surprise – the boy’s dark eyes looked far older than his age, as if he had seen and experienced such horrifying things as to give him the wisdom of an old man. But he recovered quickly, “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said he took in the boy’s confusion. “We haven’t formally met, have we? My name is Davos Seaworth, this is Shireen, and those two are Dr Robb and Nurse Jon. You were in a car accident, and you’re in the hospital now. What’s your name, lad? How are you feeling?”

 

The boy continued staring, and Davos was about to repeat his little speech before the boy suddenly opened his mouth and made swallowing motions.

 

“Quick, give him water,” Robb ordered, but Jon was already moving.

 

They looked on expectantly as the boy drank hungrily from the small cup. When he finished, however, he simply lay back down.

 

“Well?” Robb asked gently. “Are you feeling better?”

 

The boy nodded.

 

“Do you want to tell us what your name is?”

 

The boy started waving his right hand, which was in a cast, in weak motions.

 

“Do you… need something?” Robb frowned.

 

The boy nodded again.

 

“What do you need?”

 

The boy waved his hand again.

 

“Just say it,” Robb urged.

 

The boy shook his head, his mouth opening and closing – but no sound was escaping.

 

Robb frowned again. “What is it?”

 

“He can’t speak,” Davos spoke up. “That’s it, isn’t it?” He asked, turning to the boy. “You want pen and paper?”

 

The boy nodded.

 

Robb’s brow furrowed. “That’s strange… The CT scan didn’t show any complications in his brain. He should be able to function normally.”

 

The boy shook his head violently. He started waving his arm again, but it was still weak from the injury sustained during the crash, and the motions were indistinct.

 

“Why don’t we get him some pen and paper first?” Jon said. “Evidently, he wants to tell us something.”

 

Robb slowly nodded. “Alright,” he agreed, and Jon scurried away.

 

He returned a few moments later with a pen and paper, placing it on the food tray before the boy. “Here,” he said, smiling gently.

 

The boy attempted to pick up the pen, but he winced as soon as his fingers wrapped around the object.

 

“His arm’s not healed enough,” Robb muttered. “We need to try something else.”

 

They mused in silence before Davos suddenly perked up. “I have an idea,” he said, pulling the pen and paper towards him, and scribbling the alphabet on it.

 

“Alright,” he said, holding the paper up to the boy. “We’re going to ask you some questions, okay? When you answer, I’ll move my finger across each letter. Nod when I get to the one you want, okay?”

 

The boy nodded.

 

“What’s your name?” Robb asked.

 

Davos started moving his finger across the piece of paper. The boy watched him closely, eyes darting across it, before finally nodding.

 

“W,” Shireen, who had also been watching the progression of Davos’ finger, announced.

 

Davos moved his finger back to ‘A’ and went again.

 

This time, the boy nodded almost immediately.

 

“E,” Shireen said.

 

Davos repeated the process.

 

Finally, a nod and an “X” from Shireen.

 

Davos’ finger went back to ‘A’, but this time, the boy shook his head vigorously. “Is that all?” Davos asked. “W-E-X? Wex? That’s your name?”

 

The boy nodded.

 

Davos broke into smiles. “Thank you,” he told the boy. “Are you still feeling okay?”

 

The child nodded.

 

“Well, that’s one question answered,” Davos said, turning to Robb and Jon. “What else do you need to know?”

* * *

 

It was a slow, tedious, and painful process, but in that way, they had managed to elicit much information from Wex: that his last name was Pyke; that he was fourteen (a fact they learnt to their immense surprise – their age estimate had been off by a few years); had run away from a foster home (though Wex looked pained at the mention of it, and after a silent agreement with the other two men Davos chose not to question any further in that vein); that he had been born mute, and hence the condition had _not_ been a result of the crash; that the teenager was named Theon Greyjoy and had been his foster brother.

 

Finally, after the gruelling ten minutes of questioning, Davos asked, “Do you have any questions? We’ll try to answer them to the best of our ability.”

 

Wex nodded.

 

The paper went up again.

 

“T… H… E… O… N… Theon!” Shireen announced. “You want to find out what happened to him?” She asked Wex.

 

He nodded again.

 

Davos looked to Robb in askance.

 

The young doctor cleared his throat, and said, “He’s… stable now. He suffered some… pretty bad injuries as well. He’s in another room. When you’re better, you can go see him. Okay?”

 

Wex nodded, then closed his eyes.

 

“You should get some sleep,” Robb said. “It’s been tiring, and you’re still recovering. If you wake up and need anything, just press the bell here,” he said, pointing to the small button, “And a nurse should come.”

 

Wex nodded without opening his eyes.

 

“Come on,” Robb ushered at Davos, Shireen, and Jon. “Let’s let him sleep in peace.”

 

Davos stole one last look at the boy – no, teenager – and was about to leave with Robb and Jon before he was stopped by a tug on his trouser leg.

 

“Davos,” Shireen pleaded, “Can we stay and read to him?”

 

“I’m afraid not, princess,” Davos said apologetically. “I still have to go back to work. But let’s check with Dr Robb if you can read to him alone, shall we?” He quickly added when Shireen’s face clouded over with disappointment.

 

“Dr Robb,” Davos called, albeit softly so as not to disturb Wex. “Can Shireen stay here alone to read to Wex? I have to go back to work.”

 

Robb looked apprehensive. “I’m hesitant to let her stay here by herself, even if she doesn’t move out of the room…”

 

“I can check on her every few minutes,” Jon volunteered. “I’ll just look in when I make my rounds.”

 

“In that case…” Robb nodded. “Alright. But if you start feeling any discomfort, it’s back to your bed, okay?”

 

Shireen nodded, beaming. “I promise. Thank you Dr Robb!”

 

The three adults smiled as the little girl climbed back onto the hospital chair beside Wex’s bed, picked up her storybook-of-the-day (it was _Durran and Elenei_ this time) and started reading.

 

The last thing Wex registered before drifting off was the clear, lyrical voice of the little dark-haired girl.

 

The sound of it made him smile internally, somehow, and for a whimsical moment he imagined that it was the voice of a guardian angel, come to protect him at last.

 

* * *

 

When he visited the hospital again the next day, Davos hesitated outside the doorway of Room 231.

 

The door was open, and he could see Shireen once again sitting by Wex’s bed, reading – by the sound of it – _Duncan and Aegon_. So she had chosen a traditional story about knights today, probably to try to appeal to Wex’s interests, Davos thought.

 

For a moment he watched, the little girl with her back facing him, curled up in the chair, reading to the boy – who seemed to be asleep - on the bed, a boy who didn’t look much older but in fact had five years on her. Davos wondered what had happened to him. Certainly he seemed underfed and malnourished, which led to the underestimation of his age. And he had tensed up, Davos recalled, when he had mentioned the foster home.

 

The whole thing stank of abuse.

 

Davos was not unfamiliar with such cases: back when he was working by the docks, before Stannis had hired him, he had seen and heard of teenagers (and sometimes, younger) hiding out in empty, abandoned containers. A number of them had, in fact, kind, loving families, and were at heart good kids, but had simply fallen in with the wrong people – a whisper here, a few shots of coke there, and suddenly even their closest friends didn’t recognise them anymore. Usually, they’d be sent back home to tearful parents immediately after they had been found, and Davos would never see them again.

 

But there would be those other children, who neither did underage drinking nor smoked weed and had probably never done anything even remotely illegal in their lives – they would be shivering in the corner of the container because they either had nowhere else to go or had left ‘home’ to escape a worse fate.

 

The silent agreement among all the dock workers then had been to leave them be. Going to the authorities would result in them being sent back to wherever they had come from, and would be akin to giving them a death sentence. Beyond that, there weren’t much the men could do – they were just lowly, blue collar workers, after all, and many had their own families to think of. Anyhow, the children were undisruptive, so there was never really a need to send them away. _Let sleeping dogs lie_ , the men would mutter to each other, though Davos would at times silently reject that comparison – he doubted that those teenagers would cause any problems if they were driven out. They were more likely to tuck their tails between their legs and retreat meekly.

 

And so Davos, like the rest of his co-workers, would choose not to interfere outside of giving them the occasional scrap of food (he had no idea where the teenagers got their food and water from – he supposed that it was just another example of a child’s resourcefulness). His heart had ached whenever he saw those kids and he longed to help them – but what could he do? Marya and the boys had still been alive, then, and Davos had his hands full trying to feed them all. His hands had been tied, though that knowledge did not stop the twinge of guilt he felt.

 

But now, Davos wondered, perhaps this was another chance for him to help. To make up for his lack of action then, and to atone for his inability to save even his own family.

 

 _No,_ Davos thought, _what’s past is past. What’s important right now is the present._

 

The present, right now, consisted of the two children in the room, one on the bed and the other sitting beside him.

 

Davos lingered in the doorway, just watching. He was hesitant to disturb them, burst into their little bubble.

 

Just as he was about to enter, however, he was prevented by Robb Stark, rushing out of the room in a flurry, white lab coat flying out behind him and slapping Davos in the chest.

 

“Sorry, Mr Seaworth,” Robb apologised absent-mindedly.

 

“What’s the matter?” Davos exclaimed, grabbing hold of Robb’s shoulder. “Shireen… or Wex…”

 

“No, no, they’re fine,” Robb reassured. “It’s just been a busy day, is all. We’ve had a string of bad luck lately.”

 

“Are they all going to be okay?” Davos asked worriedly.

 

Robb hesitated. “Hopefully,” he said at last. “But some of the kids just… aren’t doing so well. There’s this girl who’s allergic to her medication. Then there’s the other teen, Theon. He’s not eating, which we think may be because of stress from trauma. Even worse, he’s resisting treatment. We’re worried that he’s going to crash soon.”

 

“Crash?” Davos repeated, dumbfounded.

 

Robb nodded, “That’s – ”

 

He was interrupted by a loud beeping sound emanating from his waistband, grimacing as he glanced down at the offending object.

 

“I’m really sorry, Mr Seaworth,” he said, tucking the pager back. “But I really have to go check on one of my other patients. I’ll talk to you later.”

 

With that, Robb turned swiftly on his heel and jogged briskly away, white coat billowing slightly behind him.

 

Davos watched him go as he pondered his words.  _Resisting treament... Crash..._ As Robb disappeared around a corner, Davos turned back and gave one last fleeting look at the two children whom he had come to care so much for. Then, on impulse, he turned away and walked swiftly down the hall.

 

* * *

 

He was in the third room that Davos checked. 

 

Davos knew it was him because he was the only one who was lying motionless on the bed with an IV line that was five feet away at the foot of the bed. ( _Resisting treatment_ , Robb's voice echoed in his head.)

 

Davos silently entered the room, careful not to disturb the other teenagers resting. This room, like Shireen and Wex's, housed four beds, all of which were occupied with teen boys who seemed on the cusp of adulthood. Davos padded over to the furthest corner, where a dark haired teen was sleeping.

 

 _Theon Greyjoy_ , his chart read.

 

Davos flipped through the rest of the chart, noting the many blanks - there was no address, no information about his family, no medical history, and only an estimate of his age ( _15-18 years old)._ The next page was much more detailed, describing the results of his physical exam and the various injuries he suffered in the car crash ( _fractured coccyx, broken femur, ruptured spleen…_ ). Davos felt an increasing sense of horror creep up on him as his eyes ran through the page - there were old scars, wounds that hadn't healed properly, malnourishment, etc.

 

 _Abuse again_.

 

He was on the fourth page when his breath caught on a sentence that felt intimately familiar.

 

_Index and middle fingers of left hand amputated due to extensive injury._

 

Instinctively, Davos' hand went to his neck, where his pouch of finger bones used to be. He knew that it wasn't there, of course, having lost it years ago ( _in the same accident that killed his family),_ but somehow the action still brought him some comfort. 

 

He glanced up from the chart to look at Theon, locking in on the teen's left hand, which, unsurprisingly, was bandaged.

 

Feeling suddenly dazed, Davos stumbled onto the hard plastic chair on the left side of Theon’s bed, dropping the chart onto his lap. His fingers shook as he unfurled the sleeping youth’s left hand, laying it down flat on the bedsheet, palm facing down, before placing his own left hand beside it.

 

For a moment Davos just stared down at their two hands, at Theon’s completely bandaged hand and his own calloused one, his mind incomprehensibly blank, uncertainty flooding his veins. He felt numb, but he didn’t know why he felt that way; he felt like he needed to do something; but the didn’t know what; he felt like he had to fix this situation, but he didn’t know how.

 

So he just stared.

 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, unmoving; it felt like years and yet Davos would have been convinced if someone had told him that it had been but a second. But he was instantly dragged back down to Earth by the previously still body suddenly seizing and the loud, incessant wails of machines.

 

Davos shot up out of his chair in shock, backing away rapidly as nurses and doctors piled into the room and surrounded the convulsing Theon.

 

Standing shock still in the middle of the room, as if he were lost at sea, Davos watched the doctors’ increasingly desperate attempts to stabilise Theon. Yet if he were later questioned about it, he would not have been able to provide any details; the only images swimming in his mind were that of crippled hands and broken fingers.

 

* * *

 

The next day, out of guilt over not visiting the day before, Davos made a short trip to Room 231, Shireen and Wex’s room first. To his relief, they both seemed not to have noted his absence.

 

Shireen bounded up to meet him as soon as she noticed him, meeting him halfway and hugging him around the waist as she eagerly reported, “Davos! Dr Robb says that I can go home tomorrow!”

 

The girl’s happiness was infectious and Davos found himself beaming too. “That’s great, princess!”

 

“But I can’t go to school yet. Dr Robb says that I still need to rest a little longer.”

 

“Do you miss your friends at school, Shireen?”

 

She nodded, but there was a pensive look in her eyes as she added, “But I’m scared that they won’t remember me anymore since I’ve been gone so long…”

 

Davos smoothed her black hair and reassured, “I’m sure they’ll still remember you, Shireen. You’re unforgettable.”

 

The girl broke away from him and tugged at his hand. “Come and read to Wex with me, Davos!”

 

Wex looked up at their approach, his eyes shining with curiosity. For some reason, Davos felt that this wasn’t the interest at seeing someone (relatively) new, but rather the urge to know something.

 

“Theon is… not great,” Davos admitted, answering Wex’s unasked question. “I’m going to check on him again later.”

 

Wex nodded in thanks, but his eyes were downcast.

 

Shireen gently rubbed Wex’s arm, careful not to disturb the cast. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Dr Robb is a really, really, good doctor. Do you want to continue reading?”

 

The older boy nodded.

 

Shireen smiled, a slight upturn of her lips, and started reading.

 

Wex closed his eyes. Davos wasn’t sure if he was mulling over Theon’s fate or simply enjoying Shireen’s reading; he felt that it was a bit of both, and some more besides.

 

* * *

 

Theon was awake when Davos went to see him.

 

He seemed much better; he was sitting up as much as he could with the aid of the inclined hospital bed, but there was a blankness in his eyes as he stared into space. Davos noted that the IV line was back beside his bed, and seemed to be attached to his arm with much more tape than was needed.

 

There was no response when Davos crossed over to the side of the bed, but his head immediately snapped up when Davos pulled out the chair and sat on it. 

 

"Hello," Davos greeted, squarely meeting the youth's uncannily vacant eyes. "My name is Davos Seaworth. How are you feeling?"

 

Theon looked away from him to face the front again and said nothing.

 

Davos hesitated. _How does one approach an abused teenager?_

 

“You don’t have to be… afraid, I’m here to help you. I won’t pretend to understand what you’ve been through, and I promise that I won’t pry, though I know that it was probably very traumatic, but it’s over now. You’re in safe hands.”

 

Still no response. A thought occurred to Davos: what if Theon was deaf? After all, Wex hadn’t indicated otherwise, and if Wex had been mute, it was always possible that Theon had some sort of disability too, wasn’t it?

 

“Can you hear me?” Davos tried. “Theon?”

 

The boy fliched at his name.

 

So he wasn’t deaf after all.

 

“Theon?” Davos tried again. “I need you to cooperate with me. That’s the only way we can help you. Can you tell me what happened?”

 

There was still no response.

 

“Theon,” There was a desperation in Davos’ voice now. “I truly do want to help you. I promise that I won’t send you back to whatever hell hole you came from. But I can’t help you if you’re just going to ignore me. There are people who care about you, Theon. I do. I’m sure the doctors here do too. And then there’s Wex – ”

 

The boy’s head instantly snapped up. “ _Wex_?” He croaked. “Is he alive?”

 

“Wex is fine,” Davos said quietly. “He’s three rooms down. He’s a little injured, banged his head, broke his arm, and he has a few scrapes here and there, but he’ll recover without any permanent injuries. You, on the other hand…” He was unable to stop himself from glancing down at Theon’s hand.

 

His fleeting look did not escape Theon’s notice – the teen held up his hand in front of his face, examining it with a twisted curiosity.

 

“It doesn’t even hurt that much,” he said in a faraway voice. “It feels like they’re still there…”

 

“That happens.”

 

“How would you know?” Theon bit back accusingly.

 

Wordlessly, Davos held up his own left hand, displaying it to him in all its fingertip-less glory. “It’s been over twenty years now, and I’ve made my peace with it,” he said quietly. “But sometimes I can still feel them.”

 

He held still as Theon carefully examined the stubs of his fingers, tracing the neatly healed skin with his remaining fingers. Somehow the action seemed inconceivably intimate, as if Davos were baring not just his fingers but his soul. It puzzled him; he hadn’t been lying when he had said that he’d made his peace with his fingers, so there was no reason for him to feel so… exposed.

 

Finally, after what seemed an interminably long time, Theon let go of Davos’ hand swallowed.

 

“How did it happen?” He still wasn’t meeting Davos’ eyes as he spoke, but Davos didn’t mind – at least he wasn’t ignoring him anymore.

 

“It was an accident, same as you,” Davos said. “But I didn’t get run over by a car; it happened at work. One of the machines malfunctions and my fingertips got crushed. It was too badly injured to fix, so they amputated it.”

 

“How do you ever… recover from something like that?”

 

Davos smiled gently. “Like I said, it’s been a long time. It’s takes a while, but eventually you just… get used to it, I suppose. You learn how to live without them. And you come out stronger after it.”

 

“I can’t do that.” There was no trace of defeat in Theon’s voice; he said it frankly, as if it were a fact.

 

“You _think_ you can’t do it,” Davos corrected. “It’s not as hard as it seems. You need to persevere, of course, and some days you will really think that you are a miserable failure, but you _will_ get through it. I have faith in you.” As a comforting gesture, Davos reached out to pat Theon on the arm, but he had barely raised his hand when Theon suddenly flinched away.

 

“Don’t touch me!” He cried, eyes flaring in a mixture of fear and anger.

 

Davos retreated back into his chair and tried to continue the conversation as if nothing had happened, even though his mind was sounding out in alarm. “Like I said, I believe you can do it. You need to at least _try_. If you… if you give up before you’ve even started trying, you’re cheating yourself of an opportunity to recover. And you won’t be alone – I’m willing to help you through every step, and I’m sure Wex will as well. I understand that you come from a bad place, Theon,” Davos said softy, “And I won’t press you for the details. But you need to know that wherever you came from, whatever they said to you, _that is not who you are_. A friend of mine once said that ‘ _A good act does not wash out the bad, nor a bad act the good_ ’ – and I think that applies to people’s lives as well. A person is more than the worst thing that happened to them. You are not defined by whatever happened to you before you got here. You _can_ recover from this.”

 

Davos looked up at the sound of footsteps, and stood as Robb approached. “Think about what I said, Theon. The doctor’s here to check on you. I want you to try. Cooperate with him, don’t resist treatment anymore. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get some unexpected results.” He was about to give Theon a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but thought better of it and left without another word.

 

“Afternoon, Robb,” Davos greeted as he passed by the young man. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

 

“Bye, Mr Seaworth.”

 

Robb smiled down cheerfully at the teenager on the bed. “Had a good talk with Mr Seaworth, Theon?”

 

Theon didn’t reply but Robb took no offence. “Right, let’s see how you’re doing, shall we?” He continued, bustling around the machines and checking vitals.

 

Theon complied with all of Robb’s instructions.

 

* * *

 

Shireen was discharged the next morning. Davos just missed her by the space of less than an hour; by the time his lunch break started, she was already back in the comfort of her home.

 

Her presence was sorely missed; it was bizarre for there to be no one eagerly greeting Davos when he arrived for his daily visit, and for a split second he was brought back to the terrifying time right after Shireen’s injury where she would be lying mostly silent in her bed, battling between life and death. He had to do a double take at the empty bed before remembering that she had been discharged, and so he headed directly for the other bed beside it.

 

Wex was sitting up, like Theon had been the day before. He was alone and, Davos fancied, looking a little the worse for wear because of it. But he smiled when he saw Davos, which the older man took to be a good sign.

 

“Hello, Wex,” Davos said. “Are you feeling better?”

 

The youth nodded.

 

“I went to see Theon yesterday,” Davos began, noting how Wex’s ears immediately perked up. “He’s got some pretty serious injuries, and he’s in a bad place. But he’s recovering, I think. And he asked for you.”

 

Wex nodded slowly, taking in the information. Then he pointed to the paper with the letters at the bedside table that was just out of his reach.

 

Wordlessly, Davos took it and passed it to him. His arm was now healed enough, Davos observed, to point to the letters himself instead of needing someone to do it, like Davos had done on the first day of his recovery.

 

_S… E… E… T… H… E… O… N_

 

Wex looked up expectantly as Davos processed his request. “You want to see him?”

 

The boy nodded.

 

Davos’ brow furrowed. “I don’t know if you’re well enough… I’ll ask Dr Robb about it when I next see him, yeah?”

 

Wex nodded.

 

“Do you want me to ask Theon anything? I’m going to see him again later.” Davos offered.

 

Wex’s finger started moving again.

 

_T… E… L… L… H… I… M… I… M… F… I… N… E… A… N… D… D… O… N… T… W… O… R… R… Y_

 

“I will,” Davos promised. “Now, do you have anything you want to do?”

 

_R… E… A… D_

 

Davos chuckled. “Alright, then,” he conceded, “What would you like to read?”

 

* * *

 

_He can’t find Wex._

_And Ramsay’s missing too._

_Shit. Where’s Wex? He has to find Wex. If Ramsay gets to him before Theon does…_

What if Ramsay’s _already_ gotten Wex? _His traitorous mind whispered._

_Theon tried desperately to block out that voice in his head as he scurried through the house, searching high and low. No sign of Wex in the kitchen, the toilet, or the bedroom that they share. He can’t be in Mr Bolton’s study because the door’s locked… Where_ was _he?_

_A glimpse of movement outside the window caught his eye, and when Theon peered out of it, he finally released the breath he was holding at the sight of Wex, alone in the backyard, and, most importantly, not in Ramsay’s hands._

_Theon rushed down and out the house to the backyard, ready to chide Wex for disappearing while Ramsay was still on the loose. But when he opens the back door, the sight that greeted him chilled him to the bone: Wex was there, but he wasn’t alone._

_Ramsay’s there too. And he’s holding a knife to Wex’s neck._  
  


_When did Ramsay get there? It had taken Theon less than a minute to arrive… How had Ramsay gotten to Wex so fast?_

_“Ah, there you are,” Ramsay was saying. Theon barely registered his words in his horror, his attention fully focused on Wex, struggling in Ramsay’s arms._

_“Aren’t you going to say anything? Or did you become mute too, like little Wex here?” Ramsay was mocking him now. Theon could see the knife press harder against Wex’s pale skin. It was going to break skin soon…_ Run, _his mind whispered,_ run and save Wex. _But he felt as if there were some invisible force holding him back – his legs refused to obey his commands to just_ move.

_“Well, I guess, if you have nothing to say…” Ramsay shrugged. “I’ll get started on the fun…” The sadistic grin on his face was getting wider as he slowly pressed the knife against Wex’s skin at an angle._ Was that _blood_? _Theon wasn’t sure. “I’ve always wanted to try flaying someone…”_

_Someone was shouting distantly._

_Theon ignored it. The image of Ramsay cutting into Wex was burning his retinas. He wanted to run, to throw himself at Ramsay, to grab that knife and stab him with it. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move a single muscle._

_So he stood, paralysed to the ground, as Ramsay cut into the boy Theon had thought of as a brother, whom he had sworn to protect, and whom he had failed in the end._

 

Failure _, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his father’s echoed._

* * *

 

Theon jolted awake to the sound of his name. The man from yesterday ( _what was his name again? Dale? Daven? Ah yes, Davos_ ) was leaning over him, brows furrowed in worry.

 

“Are you okay, Theon?” He asked.

 

“Wha - wha - what happened?” Theon choked out. His throat was dry and he could feel himself soaked in sweat.

 

“You had a nightmare,” Davos replied. “You were shouting for Wex and someone named Ramsay.”

 

At that, everything came flooding back – how he had been searching for Wex but found Ramsay flaying him instead. How he had been paralysed by the sight. How he had failed to save Wex.

 

 _It was all a dream_ , he reassured himself. But the dream had felt so _real_. If he closed his eyes he could see it again, the fear in Wex’s eyes, how he had struggled and struggled and not a single sound escaped from his mouth.

 

“Wex? Is Wex okay?” Theon asked desperately.

 

“He’s okay,” Davos replied. “I just saw him before coming here. He said to tell you that he’s fine and not to worry.”

 

Theon breathed a sigh of relief. _So no harm has come to him…_

 

“Theon?” Davos was saying. “Who’s Ramsay? Do you want us to get him?”

 

“ _No!_ ” Theon shouted. “No no no no no no no! No Ramsay, _please_!”

 

“Alright,” Davos soothed. “We won’t get him.”

 

Theon immediately calmed down, though he could still feel his heart pounding away a mile a minute. “No Ramsay,” he whispered. “No Ramsay.”

 

He looked up at the feeling of cool plastic touching his lips. “Here,” Davos said kindly, offering him a cup of water. Theon drank the cool liquid gratefully, draining the cup dry.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Davos asked quietly. “You don’t have to feel pressured to, it’s alright if you don’t want to say anything.”

 

Theon shook his head.

 

“Alright. Then do you want anything else?”

 

Theon shook his head again, then added hesitantly, “Can you… can you stay?”

 

Davos nodded. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.

 

He sat silently while Theon gathered his thoughts. After a while, Theon took a deep breath, and finally said, “I… think I’m better now. You don’t need to stay anymore.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

Theon nodded. “Yeah, I think I’m fine now.”

 

“Alright,” Davos said, trusting Theon in his own judgement. “If you’re sure.”

 

“Thank you.” Theon called out quietly as Davos stood up and prepared to leave.

 

The older man paused. “There’s no need to thank me.”

 

Davos smiled at Theon one more time before leaving.

 

* * *

 

“Hello, Wex!” Shireen called cheerfully as Davos led her into the room. The boy in question looked shocked to see her, and Davos wasn’t surprised: he himself hadn’t expected Shireen to be up and about so soon, or to be so eager to return to the hospital. But he had received a phone call the night before from Stannis about how _Shireen was moping around the house and wanted to see how some boy named Wex was doing, and so could Davos kindly bring her to the hospital tomorrow?_

 

And here they were. Shireen had brought along one of her books to read to Wex; it wasn’t a fairy tale this time, but rather, the little girl explained, “the first book in a series about a boy who has magic and goes to a school for magical people and fights evil people with magic.” Shireen had claimed that it was a very popular series, but Davos had never heard of it. _Perhaps if his sons had lived to be older…_

 

He was distracted from his thought by Shireen tugging at his shirt. “Sit down, Davos!” She exclaimed, patting the chair. “Then we can start reading.”

 

Davos complied, smiling fondly at her as Shireen opened the book.

 

She was not yet past the first page when she was interrupted. “Hello, Shireen!” Robb exclaimed. “It’s nice to see you again. You’re not sick again are you?” He asked with feigned concern.

 

Shireen giggled. “No, Dr Robb, I’m just reading to Wex.”

 

“Ah, I see that now! Shireen, I’m sorry to interrupt, but would you mind if I steal Mr Seaworth for a moment? I promise I’ll return him later safe and sound,” he said, winking.

 

Shireen giggled again. Even Wex was smiling. “Okay,” she agreed.

 

“Thank you, m’lady Shireen,” Robb replied exaggeratedly.

 

He turned serious again after he and Davos had moved to a corner. “Technically I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I know you care, so I’ll make an exception,” Robb began. “We’ve managed to track down where Wex and Theon came from.”

 

Davos raised an eyebrow, waiting for more.

 

“They escaped from a foster home. The current theory is that they were trying to board the bus but were hit by the car while trying to cross the road. The foster parents haven’t been informed yet, but because of protocol, it’s probably going to happen soon.”

 

“But you can’t!” Davos immediately protested, then hurried to explain himself. “I think they’re being… they’re being abused by the foster parents. Theon had a nightmare about it yesterday… And they both have rather… odd injuries.”

 

“So you noticed it too?” Robb grimaced. “I have my suspicions as well… which is why I’ve been holding off informing the foster parents. I’m planning to involve social services soon.”

 

“They’ll be removed from the foster home then, right? That’s good, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah,” Robb said. “But there’s one more thing…”

 

“What?” Davos asked. Robb’s hesitation was getting to him.

 

“It’s about Theon… Turns out that he’s also younger than we thought because of malnutrition.”

 

“So how old is he actually?” Davos had a creeping feeling in his gut.

 

“He’s nineteen,” Robb finished quietly, confirming Davos’ suspicions.

 

“A legal adult, then,” Davos murmured.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Then the implications of that statement kicked in. “Wait. If Theon is a legal adult, then what’s he doing in the foster home?”

 

“I don’t know,” Robb admitted. “That’s something else social services is going to have to look into. But whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

 

“Is there anything I can do for them for the time being?” Davos asked, desperate to help them.

 

“Just do what you’ve been doing,” Robb replied. “Keep them company, entertain them, listen to them… Nothing you haven’t already been doing.”

 

“Yeah,” Davos nodded. “Thank you for telling me all these, Robb. I know that you aren’t obliged to.”

 

Robb shook his head. “No, thank _you_ for doing all that you’re doing for them. With how busy I am with my job, I can’t spend as much time as much as I’d like with them, can’t learn more about their situation. I’m glad that you’re here to do that and be their emotional support. They’re good kids, really, just stuck in a terrible situation.”

 

As one, they turned to contemplate Wex, sitting on the bed.

 

Robb’s pager beeped, interrupting the moment. “I’m sorry, Mr Seaworth, but I have to go. I’ll keep you updated about their situation.”

 

“Thanks, Robb. I appreciate it.” Davos said, walking back to Wex’s bed with the young doctor.

 

Robb smiled and turned to the two children. “Here you go, Shireen - Mr Seaworth, back without a single scratch. Just like I promised.”

 

“Thank you, Dr Robb,” Shireen said, giggling.

 

“Well, I have to go now. Happy reading!”

 

“Bye, Dr Robb!” Shireen called, while Wex waved with his uninjured hand.

 

Davos smiled at the sight as he sat down in the chair beside Shireen’s and listened to her pick up where she had left off. Inside, however, his mind was in turmoil over the bombshells that Robb had dropped on him.

 

* * *

 

It became a routine, over the next month: Davos would visit first Wex, usually to read to him, or simply talk about his day at work if Wex didn’t feel like reading. Then he would go a floor down to where Theon was housed (he had been moved out of the Paediatric ward not long after they discovered his true age), and the two would share each other’s company in a comfortable silence - Theon was still haunted by past memories, and often just wanted someone to be there. And Davos would always oblige.

 

Occasionally Shireen would tag along on Davos’ lunch visits, but she mostly chose to stay with Wex. To Wex’s visible disappointment, her visits grew more rare after she started school again, though she would still drop by during the weekends, spending her time in the hospital alternating between reading, chatting about what happened in school, or making up stories of her own.

 

Wex had recovered enough by the second week of the month for Robb to allow him to pay Theon a visit. Davos had watched from the doorway as the boys embraced as best as they could with their respective injuries. Wex stayed for half an hour afterwards, as they chatted in low voices – Davos didn’t know what about, since he had left five minutes in to give them some privacy, and only returned later to help bring Wex back to his own room. When he returned to Theon’s room later, the young man was still his usual quiet introspective self, but, Davos fancied, he seemed happier and more content.

 

That, unfortunately, had been the one and only time where Wex visited Theon: the former started physical therapy for the arm that was broken during the accident not much later, and most of his time was occupied either in therapy or recovering from it. But he did not lack for companionship, for Shireen had started sitting in on his sessions. Wex had started trying to teach her sign language, which the therapist encouraged – it acted as both an exercise for Wex’s arm and a way for the two children to better communicate with each other. The pair had taken to playing guessing games where Wex would perform an action and Shireen would try to guess its meaning. Somehow, along the way, the game had changed into more than just an educational pastime: Wex would choose actions that looked increasingly ridiculous, and Shireen would make wild guesses that were blatantly absurd. It was a source of constant amusement for them.

 

While Wex was having his share of fun, Theon still spent most of his days brooding and staring into space. He wasn’t recovering as quickly as Wex and was still bedridden, though that may have to do with the fact that he was more severely injured than Wex to begin with as well. He would still suffer from the occasional nightmare, most of them featuring the ‘Ramsay’ of his first dream. Davos knew this not because Theon told him but because he always inevitably screamed that name in his nightmares.

 

The nightmares left Theon drenched with sweat and disturbed but even more closed off than before. Davos is a man who keeps his word, and so, as per his initial promise, he didn’t pry, trusting Theon to unload his troubles when he was ready. So Davos would just sit by his side, murmuring sweet nothings in an attempt to calm him, aching to give him a hug but knowing how much Theon shied away from physical contact.

 

It became a routine, and though Davos knew that Theon isn’t improving much, he took a certain comfort in it.

 

Then the caseworker came.

 

She was a tall woman named Brienne Tarth who seemed a little socially awkward but nevertheless was competent. They were meeting her in a small, secluded room that Robb had managed to procure for them, so that they could be alone given the nature of the discussion. Davos had requested to sit in and no one had objected, so he was currently perched on a chair in a corner of the room.

 

"I need you to tell me what happened," she was saying. "You're an adult, so you don't have to go back there after you're discharged. But Wex isn't. He's still under obligation, _by law_ , to return."

 

Theon looked as if he wanted to protest, but Ms Tarth continued, "The only way to get him out is to revoke the Boltons’ foster care licence, and to do that we’ll need to prove that they’re unfit foster parents. You know they are, I know they are. But the court doesn't, and they won't just accept our word as evidence. They need  _proof_."

 

"Aren't their medical histories sufficient proof? All those odd injuries. Does he _have_ to tell you what happened?" Davos cut in from where he was watching the exchange.

 

"I'm afraid that alone isn't enough, Mr Seaworth. I don't know if you know this, but the Boltons are a very powerful family with a lot of influence and a lot of equally powerful friends. They can easily explain the injuries away by saying something like, 'he's clumsy, he tripped". It’s obviously a lie, but the court won't charge them. But if we have a story, a  _reason_  for every scar and every broken bone..."

 

"I understand," Davos nodded.

 

“So you see, Theon,” she continued, redirecting her attention back to him, “Our hands are tied. I don’t want to force you to talk about it either, though I will confess that I think that it’ll be good for your mental health. And you’ll need a trained psychiatrist for that, which I’m not. But back to the point – you’ll need to testify in front of the court. You need to tell your story.”

 

Theon was adamently shaking his head. “No no no no no I don’t want to,” he muttered.

 

“I’m afraid that you have to,” she replied apologetically. “It’s either you or Wex. And since Wex is still a child, we want to try to avoid calling him as a witness. So that leaves you.”

 

Theon mumbled something.

 

“What was that?”

 

“I’ll only talk to Davos. No one else,” Theon repeated.

 

Davos felt his eyebrows shoot up as Ms Tarth turned to consider him. He didn’t think that Theon trusted him so much. A little, surely, but not so much as to choose to talk _only_ to him.

 

“I don’t – it’s – you’ll still have to testify in court yourself,” she finally said. “But if it helps, yes, you can talk to Mr Seaworth first. We can… cross the ‘court’ bridge when we get to it, since it probably won’t be for a while yet. But for now... ”

 

Theon nodded gratefully.

 

“Mr Seaworth, can I talk to you for a moment first?”

 

“Sure,” Davos agreed, following the tall blonde woman outside the room.

 

“It’s nothing serious, really. I just need to brief you a little on what to do,” she began. “Firstly, be patient. If he doesn’t want to say anything, nudge him a little, but don’t pressurise him. Try not to stop him once he starts speaking. Let him say what he wants to say. Just go with the flow. How’s your memory, Mr Seaworth?”

 

“Not that bad, but not great either, given my age,” he chuckled. “And please, Ms Tarth, call me Davos.”

 

“Well then, you have to call me Brienne. Try to remember as much as you can from what he says. If you want to bring something in to take notes with I won’t stop you, but I want to avoid that because it may make him feel self-conscious and subsequently become more withdrawn. After this, you’ll be going back in alone. I’m staying out here to give the both of you some privacy. Hopefully, he’ll be comfortable enough with you to tell you enough for us to get a good grasp of the situation.”

 

“Got it,” Davos nodded. “Thank you, Brienne.”

 

“No problem,” she smiled, then waved Davos into the room.

 

“Wait! One more thing: Theon has frequent nightmares where he will always mention someone called “Ramsay”. Is that one of his foster parents…?”

 

“Ramsay?” her brow furrowed. “As far as I remember, his foster parents are Roose and Walda Bolton… They have a son around Theon’s age though, and if I’m not wrong he’s called Ramsay.”

 

“Thanks, Brienne.”

 

The door clicked shut behind him, and Davos suddenly felt the tremendous weight on his shoulders. Taking a deep breath, he walked towards where Theon was sitting in an inclined hospital bed not dissimilar to the one in his room. It had been a trial and a half trying to moving him to this room, since it was small and the hospital bed had barely fit inside through the door, but Brienne had insisted on it so as to give Theon sufficient privacy when he told his story – his own room was shared with three other men, and though there _were_ curtains around the bed, those didn’t block any sound that could come from potential sniffling and crying.

 

Davos squared his shoulders and sat down on the chair beside Theon. The young man refused to look at him; instead, he stared stright ahead, reminiscent of their first meeting. Davos suddenly felt as if all the time they had spent together had inexplicably fell away, and they were back in the tension-filled days of their first meetings.

 

“Where do you want to start?” Davos asked.

 

“From the beginning, I suppose,” Theon’s voice was robotic, as if he were narrating from the perspective of an outsider. “My father disowned me when I was ten - the reasons behind it were pretty complicated; I didn’t understand it then and I still don’t really understand it now. But he did disown me, and after that I was put into the system. It wasn’t too bad at first actually. I was fostered with this couple – I still remember their names, you know? Ned and Catelyn, they were called – and they were pretty nice folks. Looking back, I was a dick to them – they were treating me as if I were their own, but I treated them like dirt. I was rowdy, I was rude, I was rebellious, I was a piece of shit basically. And I only got worse after Ned came down with cancer – like a spoiled little kid, I felt that I wasn’t getting enough attention - and that was it for them. They couldn’t take my shit anymore, so they… sent me away. To the Boltons.”

 

Theon paused, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Davos watched him carefully, the rise and fall of his chest. This was already the most he’d heard Theon say at one time. “They weren’t too bad at first either. Mr Bolton didn’t really seem to care much about me, and Mrs Bolton was nice, in the sense that she was affectionate, made sure I was well-fed, that sort of thing. They had a son, Ramsay, though I think he was actually Mr Bolton’s son from some previous affair and not Mrs Bolton’s. I’m not sure,” he shrugged in an impersonal manner. “From the start, Ramsay was a little weird: he seemed to like watching videos of people falling over a little _too_ much, and had a too much of an obsession with blood. But I just wrote them off as some quirks of his. We got on pretty well at first, and he even helped me quite a bit, offered to show me around school, that sort of thing. It didn’t seem _too_ bad.

 

“Then, after a year or so… I don’t know what happened. It seemed like some switch turned on in Ramsay, and he started – he started hitting me for no reason. He would just randomly corner me and start punching and kicking me. At first I’d hit back, but after a while I’d amassed so many injuries that I didn’t have the strength to fight back, so I just took the beatings. And then Ramsay started coming up with more… creative ways to injure me. See this?” he asked, pointing to a large scar on his forearm. “I got that after Ramsay decided that it was a good idea to ‘see what happens when someone falls down the stairs’. There was a nail that was sticking out from the wall where a picture used to hang, and I scraped my arm against it when I fell. Broke my leg too.”

 

“Did Mr and Mrs Bolton know about this?” Davos couldn’t help but ask, horrified at the prospect that someone could let their own _son_ do this to another boy right under their nose.

 

Theon let out a bitter snort. “Of course they did. Ramsay told them that I was being clumsy and fell off the stairs myself, but it was obviously a blatant lie and yet they didn’t care one lick. I was going to school covered in bruises; even the teachers – _the teachers_! – were getting concerned. The principal even called Mr Bolton once, asked if everything was fine at home, blah blah blah, and the bastard just told her the same thing Ramsay did – that I was careless and injured myself. Mr Bolton went back home and scolded Ramsay a bit, but that was it.”

  
“What about Mrs Bolton?” Davos asked. “Wasn’t she nice to you at first?”

 

“She was nice, yes, but she was also afraid of her husband and stepson,” Theon replied frankly. “She was scared shitless of Ramsay and didn’t like to contradict Mr Bolton. So she would just look at me with pitying eyes. A fat lot of good her pity did, damned woman.”

 

Davos hummed in understanding.

 

“It wasn’t long before Wex came along. His parents had just died and the Boltons were his first foster family. From the start, he was an obvious target for Ramsay; he was born mute, you see, and Ramsay was… intrigued at how someone could scream with no sound coming out. I - I couldn’t watch someone else take Ramsay’s abuse, so I tried to help him as much as I could. Tried to distract Ramsay, keep him away from wherever Wex was, that sort of thing. Ramsay got bored of not hearing any screams after a while, I think, so largely he left Wex alone. Then… then,” Theon choked out, “Then one day I found Ramsay with a knife to Wex’s throat.”

 

Davos involuntarily let out a gasp.

 

“It… it was the first time I’d seen Ramsay with a knife, though one of his favourite threats was that he would… would f-flay me one day.” The impersonal façade that Theon had put on before had shattered, leaving only a broken, heaving, traumatised boy. “I couldn’t stand it anymore. I-I told him that I would–that I would let him practice his–his flaying on me if he let Wex go and stopped hurting him. A-and Ramsay agreed. He _agreed_. And that was the start-the start of a whole new brand of torture for me.”

 

Theon paused again. “Do you still want to continue?” Davos asked gently.

 

Theon closed his eyes, but nodded his head adamantly. When he spoke again, he seemed to have recovered marginally. “A lot of the cuts that I got, those were all attempts by Ramsay. Like this one,” he pointed to an odd shaped scar on the back of his hand, “He… he accidentally cut too deep, left a big gash, had to go to the hospital. Mr Bolton… wasn’t too pleased. He scolded Ramsay again, and after that it eased up a little. Ramsay had never cut more than a few centimetres of skin at one time, because it’d be too obvious, and after that incident he also cut me less frequently. Unfortunately, he… he found another way to… to make my life hell: he made Wex watch.”

 

Davos felt sick in his stomach.

 

“At that time, I was already nearly eighteen. I thought, well, Wex and I could hold out a few more months, then I’d be out of this hellhole and _free_. Then I’ll find a way to smuggle Wex out somehow and we’d live on the road, with me supporting us by working odd jobs here and there. It was the _dream_ ,” he said wistfully. “We started saving money, whatever bits and pieces came our way, stole a dollar or two every few weeks from Mrs Bolton’s purse, kept them all hidden in the pillowcase of Wex’s bed. I went around asking about the price of train tickets, bus tickets, any way to get us far away as fast as possible. We even had bags packed with food that we’d sneaked out of the pantry, spare clothes, tools, everything. We were prepped and ready to go. Then my eighteenth birthday came and… nothing. No one came to take me away. The Boltons must have done something, removed any trace of my being in the system at all. They didn’t kick me out of the house either. It was just another normal day. But Wex and I decided that we wouldn’t stand for it. We were going to escape, whether or not some poorly-paid uptight ass came to take me away, and so we snuck out at the dead of night.” Theon suddenly let out a bitter laugh. “Turns out, for all our meticulous planning, we didn’t factor in Ramsay’s dog. Have I mentioned Ramsay’s dog? She’s a fucking vicious bitch. She’s rarely in the house, so Wex and I just… forgot about her. It was… it was our worst mistake. She guards the house at night, and caught on to us real quick. We were back inside the house, our packs and money confiscated, in no time.

 

“It actually wasn’t… wasn’t as bad as I’d thought. Mr Bolton was a little mad, but he didn’t really _do_ anything. We… were just sent back to bed. But after that Ramsay just became more vicious. _He_ was pretty pissed about us trying to escape. Then he started joking about starving the dog and then letting her loose on us. And… and it wasn’t long before _that_ became more than just a threat. But guess what?” Theon let out a short bark of laughter. “Joke’s on him. He starved the bitch so much it fainted. Had to be sent to the vet and was kept there overnight. That… that was the night that Wex and I escaped. We only managed to swipe a few dollars from Mrs Bolton’s purse before we left because that was all the cash she had, so we went for the bus. We’d actually planned to take the train at first, you know? But the second time round we didn’t have enough money. Then when we were crossing the road, well… you know the rest.”

 

Theon fell silent after he finished his story, while Davos sat in stunned speechlessness. “Thank you,” he choked out at last. “Thank you for telling me all these. I can’t imagine… I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for you.”

 

“I just want a normal life now. Just me and Wex. That’s all I’m asking for. I don’t care about the Boltons or getting justice or whatever. I just want a normal life. Is that too much to ask for?” Theon said quietly, voice trembling at the end.

 

“No,” Davos replied. “That’s not too much to ask for. And I will do my best to make sure you get at least that.”

 

Very slowly, Davos placed his hand on the bed, carefully snaking it up to Theon’s limp one, then gently grasping it.

 

Theon flinched, but he didn’t withdraw his hand.

 

* * *

 

“So?” Davos pleaded.

 

Stannis Baratheon pursed his lips from his seat across the table. “Bolton, you said?”

 

“Yeah,” Davos replied. “Roose and Walda Bolton.”

 

Stannis’ lips twitched in disgust. “Never liked Bolton. Corrupt bastard, as bad as the Freys.” He took a sip of his lemon water before settling back in his chair. “Alright, I’ll do it. For you, Davos, and because Shireen likes the kid. It’s good for her to interact with other children. Even if he _is_ associated with a Greyjoy.”

 

“Oh come off it, Stannis,” Davos chided. “That was years ago, Theon wasn’t even involved in it. And he was disowned by Balon.”

 

“You’re right, Davos, as always,” Stannis conceded after a pause. “I shouldn’t have judged him for something he never did. Which reminds me, I need to set up a date to meet the both of them. They’re both at Winterfell General, correct?”

 

“Yup. Robb Stark – the same doctor who attended to Shireen - is the attending for both of them.”

 

Stannis noted it down in his notebook. “If that’s all, Davos…”

 

“Yeah, yeah, got it, going back to work. I’ll pass the caseworker’s contact details to Melisandre on my way out?”

 

“Please, thank you, Davos. I’ll tell you when I’ve set up a court date.”

 

“Thank you again, Stannis, for agreeing to do this.” Davos said even as Stannis waved a hand at him dismissively.

 

Davos didn’t linger; after working for Stannis for nearly twenty years, he knew well enough when his presence was unwelcome.

 

Once he was back in his own office, he pulled his phone out and dialled the number that Brienne had given him.

 

“Hello? Brienne? This is Davos Seaworth. I’ve spoken to my friend, the lawyer, and he’s agreed to take Theon and Wex’s case free of charge. I’ve given him your contact details and he’s said he’ll be in touch with you… Stannis Baratheon, of Baratheon & Associates. Do you need help spelling that? Yes, that’s all, thank you.”

 

He hung up the phone and sighed. The past week since Theon had told him his story had been a whirlwind of activity. They’d finally phoned Roose Bolton two days ago, and it had gone much as they had expected: he took the news that they were going to court against him stoically, but his reply, despite its outward calmness, had held a certain edge that sent shivers down Davos’ spine. He wanted to wash his hands of him as quickly as possible and never talk to Roose Bolton again.

 

Now, he and Brienne were trying to sort out the legal details. He’d thought that working in a law firm, despite being in HR and therefore not having done any of the _actual_ lawyering, would give him a bit of a leg up, but it turned out that the only benefit he’d gotten was managing to hire a lawyer for free. Which, granted, was a pretty big boon.

 

He chuckled out loud. _I wonder how Roose Bolton and his friends will fare against the immovable object that is Stannis Baratheon._

 

For Theon and Wex’s sake, he hoped that Stannis was enough.

 

Davos buried his face in his hands. Over the past week, he couldn’t stop thinking about the horrors that Theon and Wex had suffered, and what they were about to be put through again – reliving their past horrors right in front of their tormentors. His heart ached for them. No one – let alone two children – should ever have to go through that. What had that kind of trauma done to them? They were probably both suffering from severe post-traumatic stress disorder. He remembered how Theon had been in the beginning: how he was withdrawn and had basically given up on life, had those constant nightmares, was thin as a stick and yet had no appetite. Wex had been much better, but still, after hearing what Theon had to do in order to make that happen…

 

He hoped that the psychiatrist Brienne had arranged for them (some kid named Tarly, if memory served) was good. And that the two of them would have the courage and resilience to pull through, escape from the tyranny of their own mind like how they had escaped the cruelty of the Boltons.

 

He sighed again and checked his watch. Forty-five minutes to go before his lunch break started, which meant an hour to seeing Theon and Wex again. He idly wondered if they were getting sick of seeing his face everyday.

 

* * *

 

Davos Seaworth, Brienne thought, was a good man.

 

They were once again in the same little room they’d been in a few weeks ago, but this time Wex and the lawyer, Stannis Baratheon, had squeezed in as well. Theon was sitting in a wheelchair this time, his injuries having healed sufficiently to allow it, and he was wedged between Wex and Davos. The lack of a bed had allowed a small table to be moved in, and Mr Baratheon had filled it with all sorts of legal documents and was in the process of explaining something or another with grave importance.

 

“Dr Stark tells me that both of you will be discharged within the next month, which, as I’m sure you know, means that you both have to start looking for some sort of accommodation very soon, not least because you’ll be going to court in three months. Mr Pyke I’ll leave to Ms Tarth, since he’s still currently under your charge,” here he paused and looked pointedly at her, “And I trust that you will email me his new address as soon as possible. Try to make sure that it doesn’t change, mind, else I’ll have to go through a whole lot of trouble.”

 

She nodded.

 

“Now, as for _you_ , Mr Greyjoy, you’re a legal adult, so you’re out of the system, which means that you will have to find someplace to stay yourself.”

 

Theon looked put out, and she was about to reply with something about helping him when unexpectedly, Davos cut in.

 

“He can stay at my place. I have a spare room.”

 

Mr Baratheon’s eyebrows shot up, but he nodded and jotted down something in his notebook. “Very well, then.”

 

Davos gently patted Theon’s thigh as the latter looked up at him, eyes shining with a mixture of surprise, gratitude, and something unidentifiable. After a while, he looked down and carefully placed his own hand on top of Davos’.

 

Brienne Tarth smiled.

 


End file.
